Tristan's Redemption

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <B> <TABLE BORDER="0" CELLPADDING="1" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="881" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="VOID" RULES="NONE" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=CENTER HEIGHT= 67 ><NOBR><div> <I><B>AwesomeDude </B></I></div> </NOBR></tD> <tD VALIGN=CENTER WIDTH="405"><div> <I><B>      </B></I><FONT SIZE="7" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><I><B> </B></I></FONT><FONT SIZE="7" COLOR="#00BFBF" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="AwesomeDude.com Home Page"><U><I><B> </B></I></U></A></FONT><FONT SIZE="6" COLOR="#00BFBF" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="AwesomeDude.com Home Page"><U><I><B>Home</B></I></U></A></FONT></div> </tD> </tR> </TABLE></B></div> <bR> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <B>Tristan's Redemption </B></div> <div> <B>by Nicholas Nurse</B></div> <bR> <div> <B> <TABLE BORDER="2" CELLPADDING="2" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="161" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <B>Part One</B></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_one_say_it_like_you_mean_it" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter One</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_two_tire_treads_and_crystal" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Two</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_three_dreams_and_choices" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Three</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_four_the_measure_of_loyalty" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Four</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_five_some_sticky_situations" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Five</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_six_the_end_of_all_things" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Six</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_seven_to_open_a_door__" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Seven</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_eight_what_follows_after" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Eight</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_nine_the_end_of_the_beginning" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Nine</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> </TABLE></B></div> <div> <B> <TABLE BORDER="2" CELLPADDING="2" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="161" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <B>Part Two</B></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_ten_descent" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Ten</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_eleven_a_different_world" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Eleven</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_twelve_northward" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Twelve</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_thirteen_coming_home" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Thirteen</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_fourteen_betrayed" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Fourteen</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 33 WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_fifteen_broken_and_rising" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Fifteen</B></U></A></div> </tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="71"><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#chapter_sixteen_redemption" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Chapter Sixteen</B></U></A></div> </tD> </tR> <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 16 ><NOBR><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#epilogue_moving" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Epilogue</B></U></A></div> </NOBR></tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP><NOBR><div> <A HREF="tr_m.htm#afterword" TARGET="TRLX_Middle" TITLE="Tristans Redemption"><U><B>Afterword</B></U></A></div> </NOBR></tD> </tR> </TABLE></B></div> <div> <A HREF="mailto:viceroy12@hotmail.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:viceroy12@hotmail.com"><U><B>Email Nick</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <B> <TABLE BORDER="2" CELLPADDING="2" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="160" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#0099FF" BORDERCOLORDARK="#339900" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 45 WIDTH="148"><div> <A HREF="stories.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="AwesomeDude.com Stories Authors"><U><I><B>AwesomeDude Stories </B></I></U></A><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><A HREF="stories.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="AwesomeDude.com Stories Authors"><U><I><B>   </B></I></U></A></FONT></div> </tD> </tR> </TABLE></B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <B> <A NAME="tristan_s_redemption_by_nicholas_nurse_1"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><FONT SIZE="6" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>Tristan's Redemption by Nicholas Nurse</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div> <I><B>Tristan Elliot isn't your typical teenage boy.  For starters, he's gay.  Not that that's any of your goddamn business, really.  And it's especially none of your business that he's in love with his (totally straight) best friend.  Or that he's afraid of ending up like Julian Lambowski, the only gay kid at school who's out of the closet.</B></I></div> <bR> <div> <I><B>See, Tristan has it going pretty well--good grades in school, a nice car, lots of friends and loving if sometimes distant parents--and he doesn't want the whole gay thing to fuck that up.  Living in Orange County means hiding who you are--it's not exactly a gay mecca, after all.</B></I></div> <bR> <div> <I><B>But sooner or later, everything secret is made manifest.  What begins as a simple fight at school turns into a series of revelations and events that Tristan could never have anticipated.  What comes after leaves him older, perhaps wiser and forever changed.</B></I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <I><B> <A NAME="chapter_one_say_it_like_you_mean_it"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></I><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><I><B>Chapter One: Say It Like You Mean It</B></I></FONT></div> <div> Fuck.</div> <div> I'd gone and hurt her feelings again. One of these days I'll remember how sensitive she is about her weight. For now, though, apologies are in order, as usual.</div> <div> "Look, Liza, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to-I mean, I was trying to prove a point, not make you cry." I put a hand on Liza's shoulder, much as I wasn't really one for physical contact.  "I mean, I was just telling you why I think Steve doesn't like-"</div> <div> Liza turned to face me and slapped my hand away. Her cheeks were wet. "I think you've said <I>enough</I>." I hadn't seen her this angry in awhile-weeks, at least. "I don't want to hear your reasons and I don't want to hear you try to explain yourself, Tristan. Just-just leave me the hell alone, alright?" Liza turned away from me again and kicked her locker door shut.  The metallic slam echoed down the hallway and I winced. People turned to stare as she stormed off down the hallway.</div> <div> I think my mouth was hanging open. I closed it quickly and folded my arms across my chest.  "What the fuck are you all looking at?" I said loudly enough so that everyone in the corridor could hear me. Having been called down, most of the onlookers turned away.  It was over, anyhow; Liza had already entered Ms. Felding's room and was undoubtedly blotting at her eyes with tissues. She got so red-faced when she cried, and her mascara always ran. "Mind your own goddamn business," I snarled at no one in particular as I too turned to walk to my next class.  I was pissed, and I wasn't sure if my anger was more at my own harsh tongue or at Liza's propensity to embarrass me in front of the whole world. Part of me wanted to try to apologize to her again; the rest of me wanted to walk in there and smack her.  So I decided to do nothing.</div> <div> Yeah, alright, so I'm not the nicest guy in the world. So much for the stereotypical caring and sensitive "<I>Ooh</I>! let's get in touch with our feelings!" sort of gay kid.  I just don't have the patience for that sort of bullshit-all it does is get you hurt in the long run. Trusting someone too much is like running with scissors; sooner or later, you're gonna get stabbed, and it's going to be your own damn fault.  I saw what had happened to Julian Lambowski when <I>he</I> decided it was a brilliant idea to come out of the closet.  </div> <div> I turned the corner and ran smack into someone. "Ow, Jesus! Watch where you're going, you stupid sack of-"</div> <div> "Dude, Tris, calm down, man."  </div> <div> Oh. Whoops. I'd nearly sworn at my other best friend. "Hey, Garrett, sorry. I just ran afoul of Liza again and . . . well, you know what kind of mood <I>that </I>always puts me in." </div> <div> "You really gotta stop talking about her weight, you know."</div> <div> "Look, it wouldn't be an issue if she weren't so sensitive about it."</div> <div> "It also wouldn't be an issue if you <I>didn't bring it up</I>."</div> <div> I was still sullen.  "Well, maybe she should just lose some weight, then."</div> <div> Garrett raised an eyebrow. "You're acting stupid, Tris."</div> <div> I sighed. "I know. But I'm pissed. I'm allowed to act a little stupid when I'm pissed."</div> <div> "Sure you are-but you're not allowed to act a<I> lot </I>stupid. Which is, incidentally, what you're doing." Garrett pivoted to walk alongside me. "Look, let's talk about it after gym, okay?"</div> <div> I shrugged. "Whatever.  There's not much to talk about, really. She was just complaining that Steve Johnson doesn't pay any attention to her, blah blah blah . . . "</div> <div> "Ah, I see you lent her your sympathetic ear again."</div> <div> "If you want me to tell you what happened, put the sarcasm in your ass, where it belongs."</div> <div> Garrett barked a laugh. "I know what should go in your ass, and it isn't sarcasm."</div> <div> I jerked involuntarily. Did Garrett think-there was no way he could know, even after all these years; I went to such great lengths to hide it from him, from anyone-I decided it was best to stay calm. "Crass, and unoriginal, too. You can do better than that."  I opened the door to the boys' locker rooms. "Look, you're right-we'll save it for after gym."  Garrett and I both had gym the same period, but we had different coaches; ninety juniors were too many for one coach to handle, especially when you factored in the inherent stupidity of high school coaching staffs.  </div> <div> Garrett grinned. "Fine. See you in the showers." He took off down the rows of lockers to find his own. Not for the first time, I wished we shared a row together; sure, I'd seen him in his boxers plenty of times, and even naked in the showers, but it would've been nice to be able to scope out his ass on a regular basis. Like a daily vitamin, or something-Vitamin G, definitely. But G for "Garrett" or for "Gay"? Ah, yes, that was the question.</div> <div> The bell for classes to begin rang. I had five minutes to change and be outside in my gym clothes. Hurriedly, I put my satchel in the locker, took off my black boots and stripped off my jeans. I folded them neatly-they'd been kind of expensive, since not too many stores carried low-rise distressed boot-cut jeans. I pulled off my shirt. It was tight, and black, but long-sleeved. I folded it, too, and set it atop the jeans.  In rapid succession, off came the necklace and bracelet and watch and ring, all of which went in the locker. I stood there for a moment in my boxers as I rooted around for my gym clothes.  </div> <div> Well, shit.  I'd gone and left them in my car again. I had two, maybe three minutes before the second bell rang. Briefly, I considered a mad half-nude dash down to the parking lot; if I ran quickly, would anyone really have any time for a good look?  Too bad I'd left my jacket in my regular locker; it came down to my knees, so I could've hidden most of the juicy parts behind it. Damn, damn, damn, there wasn't time for any of this, and the longer I stood there the later it got.  </div> <div> Garrett popped his head around the corner of the row. "Hey, Tristan, what're you waiting for?"</div> <div> "I forgot my gym clothes in my car."</div> <div> "So go out there in your boxers."</div> <div> "Yeah, I definitely keep you around for your brilliant ideas."</div> <div> "I'm kidding, assface. Look, gym's the last class of the day. Just skip it and go home."</div> <div> "I haven't skipped a class since last year, Garrett. I don't want to start now."</div> <div> "Well, it's either you skip or take a zero for the day-oh, wait, they're the <I>same thing</I>! And this way you get to go home early. I'll meet you there first thing after school." Garrett vanished again.</div> <div> I gave up.  He was right, really-there wasn't much else to do. I unfolded my clothes and put them back on, then grabbed my satchel and left. I trudged down the now-empty hallways to my locker-I noticed that Liza's, right next to mine, had a huge footprint on it-and grabbed my jacket. Stopping for a moment, I ripped out a page from my binder and scribbled a quick "Sorry" on it.  I folded it in quarters and slipped it through the vent in her locker. She'd know who it was from; there was really only one person who owed her an apology, after all. I put my jacket on and went out to the parking lot.</div> <div> Two of the wardens-well, alright, they're just proctors, but everyone calls them wardens when they're not in hearing range-were guarding the gates to the parking lot.  They were there as much to keep kids inside as to keep strangers out; luckily for me, however, I'd built up a friendship with all the wardens over the years. It came in handy when I needed to circumvent petty little things like state law-as I was doing now by leaving school an hour early.  </div> <div> One of the wardens smiled at me as I walked up. "Hey, Tristan, what's going on?"</div> <div> "Just leaving, Mary," I replied. "I get to go home early today."</div> <div> "Lucky you.  How's AP English these days?"</div> <div> "Eh, about like all the other advanced classes-we spend all year getting ready for the college exams. If I'm lucky, I'll have enough credits by the end of senior year to start college as a sophomore."</div> <div> "Just don't work too hard, alright?"</div> <div> "Trust me, that'll never be my problem." I scooted out through the gate and hit the disarm button on my key. My car, a BMW 330ci convertible, unlocked itself.  </div> <div> Perhaps explanations are in order. My parents are fairly well-off and they decided that as long as I'm entering college a year ahead and saving them a good thirty thousand dollars or so, they didn't really mind turning around and dumping that same amount of money into a nice car to get me home on weekends. I was finally able, on my seventeenth birthday, to convince them to buy it a year early. I had gotten it so recently that the license plates hadn't even come in yet.  </div> <div> I pulled out of my parking space and left the school. I was antsy; I didn't want to go home right away. Garrett would be over, and we would hang out, but I wanted to get him off of my mind.  Lately the gay thing had been weighing heavily on my mind, and seeing him all the time didn't make it any better.  I spent enough time at night with my hand wrapped around my cock, thinking about him naked and sucking me off; I didn't need to think about him during the daytime, too. I headed for the beach. Southern California was the coolest place to live, no doubt about it; even in October I could roll back the roof and cruise down to the beach for lunch. I stopped at a small pizza joint my friends and I frequented, got some pizza, wolfed it down, and hit the road again.  Half an hour had gone by. Time enough now to get home, enjoy a good jerkoff session, and wait for Garrett to arrive.</div> <div> When I pulled up onto my street, I parked my car on the curb so I wouldn't block the driveway when my parents got home.  They'd both be home between five and six, so I had a good three hours before they got there. Inside, I made a beeline for the fridge and poured myself a glass of water.  I parked myself in front of the TV, deciding against the jerkoff session, and flipped it on. Then I stopped, wondering what the hell I was doing. I hate TV. Oh, yeah. Trying to get my mind off of Garrett. That's what I was doing.  </div> <div> I grabbed a book instead.</div> <div> The doorbell rang far too soon for my liking, but that didn't stop me from running and sliding across the wood floor to answer it. I let Garrett in and poured him a soda.  We went around to the backyard and sat out on the courtyard. We have a pretty big backyard, actually-about two acres' worth of land, replete with swimming pool and tennis courts and a wide courtyard area.  Our house was large, too, but so were most of the homes in the area. Garrett and I sat on the stools around the outdoor bar.</div> <div> "So have you talked to Liza yet?"</div> <div> "I stuck a note in her locker, but that was about it. I figure she'll call eventually, or I'll see her at school on Monday if she decides to waste the weekend by being pissed at me."</div> <div> "<I>You</I> could call <I>her</I>, you know."</div> <div> "Oh, right, I'd considered that."  My tone of voice made it clear that it had been summarily rejected.</div> <div> Garrett rolled his eyes. "You're so goddamn difficult, you know?" He finished the rest of his soda. "She really has a thing for Steve. Seriously."</div> <div> "I don't know why; he's really nothing to look at." I grinned. "I'm a helluva lot cuter."</div> <div> Garrett laughed. "Yeah, like you'd even give her the time of day. You have about as much interest in dating Liza as you do in eating horseshit."</div> <div> "I think you're being a little harsh-"</div> <div> Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"</div> <div> "On horseshit." Garrett rolled his eyes. I laughed. "Seriously, though, she's just not my type."</div> <div> "I doubt you're hers either-she doesn't like the thin look. Or dark hair."</div> <div> "Okay, I get the idea."</div> <div> "What<I> is</I> your type, Tris?"</div> <div> Oh, shit. I <I>hate</I> it when this comes up. Deflection. "You've known me for six years and you're just asking me <I>now</I> what my type is?"</div> <div> "Every time it comes up, you do a deft subject change." Does this boy have me pegged or what?</div> <div> For a moment, I was silent.  If I wanted to, I could begin laying the seeds here. Slowly introducing him to the idea that I was gay, and, beyond simply being gay, that I wanted nothing more in this world than to have Garrett love me-not as a best friend, but as a boyfriend. As a <I>lover</I>. Not for the first time, I felt as though I were standing at a crossroads. Down one path lay safety, security and constant self-consuming secrecy. Down another, pain, risks-but the payoff could be great.  </div> <div> "I guess you could say I . . . like 'em blonde." Garrett was blonde.        </div> <div> "Oh, that's good," Garrett said sarcastically. "That clears everything up. Oh, in case you didn't notice-Liza's blonde."</div> <div> "Hazel eyes. I dig hazel eyes, too," I said desperately. Liza's eyes were blue; Garrett's were hazel.</div> <div> Of course, he wasn't making the connection. "This all seems rather superficial to me."</div> <div> "Brains, brains!  And humor, and . . . cleverness, and wit."</div> <div> "Boy, you ran around in a full circle there."</div> <div> "Look, I just don't think about this shit, alright?" I did. I thought about it every time I thought of Garrett.  I thought about it late at night when I came across my chest, thinking of his body, his face. <I> I love you, Garrett. But how to tell you? And what will you think?</I></div> <div> "For never thinking about dating, you sure do dress to impress, you know," Garrett said, gesturing at my clothes. "You always look like you just stepped out of a damn catalogue."</div> <div> "I just like to look good.  It's an issue completely separate from dating, or sexual appeal," I countered. "Sort of like how your inability to shower has no impact on your opinions on girls."</div> <div> "Ooh, aren't we the clever one today?  You'd better take advantage of a rare circumstance."</div> <div> I laughed. "You know, we're just too witty for our own good." I finished my soda. "Now, what are we doing today? My folks are coming home around six-ish, and then they're flying to San Francisco for the weekend. They're taking Izz and Sandy with them, too." Yes, my sisters' names were Isolde and Sandra.  My parents, you see, think they're clever, and apparently we children get to suffer as a result. Opera fans, and classical literature fans as well, they found a way to make a dual reference out of three children's names.  </div> <div> "What is there to do today? We could go see a movie, or go to the mall . . . "</div> <div> "Well, if Liza calls, I'm not opposed to hanging out with her, but-"</div> <div> "But you're too much of an asshole to call her yourself."</div> <div> "Exactly." Hey, why lie? "Look, I just get tired of her whining. I know she's got a weight problem, but what can I do about it? It's not like we can always avoid it if it comes up-ducking around the issue doesn't make it go away; it just means you're lying to yourself." I could stand with taking some of my own advice. But being fat and being gay were two totally different things. I mean, you really can't <I>hide</I> being fat. And nobody beats you up for being fat. "You know I love her. But . . . I'm not going to pretend that a facet of her-one I don't care about, mind you-doesn't exist. It would be like me pretending that you're ugly." There, that was slick.</div> <div> "I'm flattered, but still. I guess that's enough said. Besides, you did leave her that note, which accounts for something. I'm kind of surprised, actually-that's a bit out of character for you."</div> <div> "Well, what can I say. Perhaps I have some lingering degree of sensitivity after all."</div> <div> "Spare me. Let's swim before we decide on what to do."</div> <div> We walked back up to the house and to my room, where Garrett, who spent so much time over anyhow, kept a spare pair of swimming trunks. I grabbed my boardshorts-I longed to slip on a tight black Speedo in front of Garrett, just to see how he'd react-and changed. Garrett stripped down and grabbed his boardshorts. For a brief and glorious moment, he stood completely and unabashedly nude. I, of course, feasted in those few moments, storing up as much as I could for later masturbatory fodder.  Garrett was of a rare breed of human: naturally gifted with a perfectly-proportioned body that was the result of pure genetics as opposed to any effort on his part.  Sure, Garrett jogged and occasionally worked out, but by and large the majority of his exercise took place in gym class and in walking or biking around. And yet he was slim and muscular-the kind of build where when he walked, you could see the flex of calf muscles in his legs and when he wore a t-shirt, you could see the outline of his pecs. But what drove me wild were the twin downward curves of his hips-the downward curves that led straight to the small blond bush of hair at the base of his cock.  Garrett was naturally not hairy, and his blond hair further minimized the appearance of hair; one would think that Garrett shaved his entire body, excepting his small bush. And yet for all of his apparent hairlessness, Garrett had a cock like a tree trunk. I'll admit that in one respect, that was a big turn-off; I wasn't at all a fan of huge cocks, especially since I had a pretty large piece of meat myself and I always imagined myself as more of a top than anything else. Ah well.  Garrett slipped the boarshorts over his hairless legs and laced them around his slim waist. After we'd changed, we headed outside for the pool, boardshorts on and towels in hand. We dived into the deep end of the pool.  Between the two of us, I was the better swimmer, having taken lessons and been on swim teams for years.</div> <div> Garrett and I swam a few laps before we relaxed, floated on the surface of the water and drifted.  In some respects, I was more comfortable in water than on land. I especially enjoyed slowly sinking under the surface of the water and hovering, suspended. Submerged, time slows, and I imagine that this is much what death is like-there is no breath, no sound, and everything stands still, as though expectant, waiting for something that does not come. Then the moment passes and I run out of air; before I <I>really</I> get the chance to find out what death is truly like, I pop back up to the surface and inhale sharply, greedily, drinking in as much air as I can to fill the gasping void in my lungs.</div> <div> Garrett had been waiting for me to resurface.  "I hate it when you do that, you know."</div> <div> "Why?"</div> <div> "It's creepy. You stay under for so long, I start getting worried. Like, should I go and grab you by your hair and drag you out?"</div> <div> "You don't grab a drowning person by their hair. You actually lace an arm over their shoulder, across their back and under the other shoulder, and lay them so that their back is in the water and their face is turned out above the surface.  That way you can still swim and you can make sure they don't drown."</div> <div> "Thanks, David Hasselhoff."</div> <div> "Fuck you."</div> <div> "What do you do down there, anyway? You close your eyes and just . . . float."</div> <div> "I think about all manner of things, really. It's about the stillness. Underwater, it feels like the world is holding its breath. When I have a problem, I like to come out here and just sink. It helps to put things in perspective." I shrugged.  "Try it."</div> <div> "What, just go underwater and float?"</div> <div> "For as long as you can, until you start to run out of air. Your lungs will burn. When the burning is too painful to tolerate, come back up again.  But when you're down, listen for the silence." As Garrett sunk underwater, so did I. This time, I imagined kissing Garrett underwater, the feel of our lips meeting and pushing out water, breathing only each other and floating in a world where time had no meaning. And hands, gently on wet skin, serving as eyeless sight.</div> <div> When I came up, Garrett was gasping for breath. "Do you see what I mean?" I asked.  </div> <div> He nodded, emphatic. "That's . . . wild. When you shut everything else out. It's like Zen."</div> <div> I laughed. "Great book title. I can see it now-<I>Zen and the Art of Drowning</I>." Just then, my cell phone rang.  I jumped out of the water, heedless of the October cold that was starting to take hold as the sun began to sink. I flipped open my phone. "Hello?"</div> <div> "Tristan." It was Liza. "You'll never believe what he did."</div> <div> "Oh-you're <I>not </I>still mad at me, I see?"</div> <div> "I can't be-not when you're as wrong as you have been. He left a note in my locker. Steve did, I mean."</div> <div> I paused for a moment. "Er . . . what did the note say?"</div> <div> Liza had a giggle in her voice. "Just one word-'Sorry.' "</div> <div> <I>Shit</I>. What to do? I was silent for a moment, and then a sly smile spread across my face. "So did you call him already?"</div> <div> "No, not yet-I don't know how to respond! I mean, what does this mean? In red ink, too."</div> <div> "You're sure it's not blood?"</div> <div> "Shut up. Seriously-what should I do?"</div> <div> Garrett looked at me curiously from the pool.  I grinned at him and covered the phone for a minute. "She says Steve left a note in her locker that said 'Sorry' on it."</div> <div> Garrett jerked and almost sank. "Oh my god, Tris-you can't let her think-" I waved Garrett to silence.</div> <div> "Well, Liza, maybe you should call him up and tell him you want to fuck him."</div> <div> Liza suddenly sounded breathless. "Oh, Tris, I <I>love</I> it when you talk stupid to me." I really hated her sarcasm sometimes.</div> <div> Garrett got out of the pool. "Tristan! Don't do that to-" I backed away from him, a huge grin spreading across my face. "Tristan! Give me the phone!"</div> <div> "I think you ought to call him, Liza," I said again, leaving out the "and fuck him" this time.  </div> <div> "What's going on in the background? I can hear Garrett saying something," Liza replied, ignoring my comment.</div> <div> "Oh, nothing; Garrett's just getting out of the pool and he wants to talk to you or something." Garrett was coming closer, irritated and dripping wet, and I couldn't keep a laugh from bubbling up inside of me. I backed away from him.  "Look, my reception's starting to cut out, so if I lose you-" Garrett made a lunge for the phone. I hit the "End" button and let him take the phone out of my hands.</div> <div> "You <I>hung up on her</I>!" Garrett flipped the phone shut.</div> <div> "No, I just . . . lost reception," I replied innocently.</div> <div> "Don't give me your cute little shrug. You're such a bastard!" Garrett was the stronger of the two of us; he picked me up bodily and flung me into the pool.  I spluttered and bobbed to the surface.  </div> <div> "You're lucky I like you too much to bust out the Shotokan," I muttered.  </div> <div> "Oh, right, like I'm not a brownbelt too. Bite me, karate kid."  Garrett was flipping open the phone again, presumably to call Liza back. "Where the hell is Liza's number?"</div> <div> "I have it memorized," I said smugly. "What, you don't?"</div> <div> Garrett was silent for a moment.  With a snarl of frustration, he set the phone down. "I just program numbers into my phone and forget about them," he admitted. "Goddamnit, Tristan, you <I>can't </I>let her make a fool out of herself like that!"</div> <div> "Why not?  It's the least she deserves for both making me look like a fool in the hallway and for <I>taunting</I> me mistakenly for a letter I wrote! The only reason she called was to gloat, Garrett, and you know it." In a huff, I heaved myself out of the pool. Garrett stood in front of me, dripping wet. God, he looked so hot with his trunks hanging so his hips were visible.  </div> <div> "Look, whatever. <I> I </I>think you should call her back. You can gloat all you want that <I>you</I> wrote the note, since that's what you seem to need to satisfy your cruel urges. But don't let her make a fool out of herself."</div> <div> "We're forgetting an essential fact here, Garrett-even if I do tell her, why would she believe me?  There's nothing that suggests that it's me any more than that it would be Steve, and two factors work against honesty here: the fact that she'll think I'm toying with her, as is admittedly my nature, and the fact that she <I>wants</I> it to be Steve more than she wants it to be me."</div> <div> "You're such a prick."</div> <div> "Look, I'm sorry."</div> <div> "Maybe I'd believe you if you said it like you meant it."</div> <div> "Fine, I'll call her."  I picked up my phone and dialed her number. It was busy. "It's busy."</div> <div> "Bullshit."</div> <div> "Here." I handed Garrett the phone. He heard the busy signal and nodded. I hung up. "She's probably calling him right now.  If she's smart, she'll just ask him if he left her the note; he'll say no, she'll call me back, and I'll tell her that I left it for her. She'll be disappointed, and probably a little mad that I wasn't honest in the first place, but I'll tell her exactly what I just told you."</div> <div> "Fine, fair enough. But still, Tristan, you really don't need to fuck around with us like you do. I mean . . . it makes us feel like lesser people.  Look, we're all in the same classes, but we know you can run mental rings around us. You just don't need to remind us of that fact." Without another word, Garrett turned and started walking back toward the house.  </div> <div> I stood still for a moment, dripping wet and suddenly very cold.  </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <I><B> <A NAME="chapter_two_tire_treads_and_crystal"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></I><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><I><B>Chapter Two: Tire Treads and Crystal</B></I></FONT></div> <div> Garrett disappeared inside the house. I was still somehow rooted to the spot. The sun hung low in the sky and threw everything into shadow; a slight wind blew through the yard and made me shiver.  Finally, I walked toward the house. When I entered, Garrett was sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands. He wasn't crying; that much I could see. But he was certainly not in a good mood, either.</div> <div> "Garrett?"  I heard and hated the hesitance in my own voice. Garrett didn't look up or respond in any way. I waited a moment, but the silence was heavy in my ears. "What are you even upset about, anyway?" I felt myself getting irritated.  "I didn't even do it to you. I don't do shit like that to you. Nobody thinks you're stupid, least of all me-you're my best friend, Garrett. Jesus, just let it go already." Garrett still didn't move. I had had enough.  "You know what, just fucking go home. If you're gonna sit here and sulk because I made fun of Liza, then fucking go mope around with her." I got up and stormed out.</div> <div> I went up to my room and started to change. Midway through, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Looking into my eyes bothered me. I knew I felt guilty about something, but I couldn't pin down exactly what I felt guilty about, and I wasn't even sure that I wanted to change anything about myself anyhow.  Still, I had a hard time meeting my own gray eyes. Instead, I looked over the rest of myself in an effort to get my mind off of what was really bothering me.  My dark hair was starting to dry; normally, I wore it spiked, but right now it was tousled and fell every which way. I had a narrow nose and face that fit my equally narrow frame.  Many years of swimming and tennis had given me a slender build, but standing naked in front of my mirror I could see the layer of taut muscle and sinew that gave my body definition.  I definitely was not embarrassed to walk around without a shirt on; my arms were thin and defined and my chest had a definite divide between pecs and abdominal muscles. I too had the v-shaped curve of hips leading to my pubic region. I was about as hairless as Garrett, really, and what little I had around the base of my cock I kept trimmed back into a tight little bush of dark hair. Other than that, there was very little hair on my body anywhere. I liked it that way.  Hairlessness only added to my muscular definition, and since I was about six feet tall and weighed only about a hundred sixty pounds dripping wet, I didn't mind the extra help.  But enough was enough; my meandering thoughts were my way of delaying going back downstairs. I slipped on a pair of low-rise jeans-all my jeans were low-rise jeans; I much preferred the way they hugged my hips and were tight across my butt.  I walked downstairs and into the dining room. Garrett was gone. I dashed to the front door and looked outside; his car, too, was gone, and there were tire marks in the street, past the driveway.  He'd left quickly, then, and angrily, judging by the tire marks. Well, what was I to do? If he was going to get all sensitive about something that had nothing to do with him, there was little I could do about it.</div> <div> Fuck.  I'd pissed off Garrett and was making a fool out of Liza. My two best friends were both going to give it to me, and give it to me hard. Well, first thing's first-if I attend to Liza, then maybe I can tell Garrett that I apologized to her and then he'll stop being upset with me as well. Then everything can get back to normal and we can all go on with our little lives. With a sigh, I hopped over my car's door-I had failed to put the top up when I got home, figuring I'd be going out again soon-and started the engine. The drive to Liza's house was a short one, as she lived about seven or eight blocks inland, where the houses were smaller and older.  Liza's parents were both teachers, so they didn't exactly have a lot of money, but I liked the street they lived on-the willows and oak had been planted decades before, and when I drove down the street it was shaded and dark where the branches had grown and crossed and mingled overhead. Leaves fell as I drove; a few landed on my seats and others were kicked up under the wheels of my car. They floated about behind me in the exhaust of my passing. I parked on the street and dashed up the walkway to Liza's house, throwing open the gate and ringing the doorbell.</div> <div> The door opened; Liza's younger brother, Jared, looked out. "Hey, Tristan!" he said. I glanced behind him, toward the stairwell, before looking at him. There was no one on the stairs. "What's up, Jared?"  Before he could tell me what might or might not have been up, I added on, "Where's your sister?"</div> <div> "Ah . . . well, she left a few minutes ago. I think she might've told Mom where she was going. Hey, come on inside!  I'll get you a Coke or something and I'll go ask Mom."</div> <div> "Thanks-actually, water's fine. I don't drink soda."</div> <div> "Cool, hang on. I'll be right back." Jared flung himself up the stairs.  Inwardly, I seethed; here I come all this way to see Liza and when I get here, she's not even home. The easiest course of action would be to simply call her cell, of course, but I somehow felt awkward doing that.  I'd rather say what needed to be said in person.</div> <div> Liza's mother came down the stairs. I stood up. "It's nice to see you, Mrs. Luceri," I said. She stepped forward to take my hand. Liza's mother was a slender woman, blonde-haired and very motherly in appearance. I liked her quite a bit; she exuded warmth and comfort.  </div> <div> "Tristan, how many times have I told you to just call me Mary? How are you?"</div> <div> "I'm doing well."  We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; behind us, Jared was bustling about. It looked like he was getting ready to go swimming. He darted back in a moment later, carrying my glass. "Thanks," I said. </div> <div> "Hey, if you decide to stick around and wait for her, I'll be swimming out back," Jared replied. "I wanted to ask you something, too, if you have a sec, Tris."</div> <div> "Yeah, sure thing," I replied.  Perhaps I would stick around, if Liza wasn't going to be long. "So where <I>did</I> she run off to, Mary?" I asked.</div> <div> "She said something about needing to go down to the park for a bit.  She said she'd be back in an hour, and she left about ten minutes ago. Go ahead and wait here-Jared'll keep you company." She was quiet for a minute. "Tristan, can I ask a favor of you?"</div> <div> "Of course; what is it?"</div> <div> Mary looked out the window; Jared was taking off his shirt and setting it on a lawn chair. He was a thin kid; somehow, Liza had gotten the short end of the genetic stick.  "Jared's starting his freshman courses, and he seems to have all the Honors teachers you did, rather than the ones Liza had. She saved all of her work, but since you had his same teachers . . . "</div> <div> I nodded.  "If he ever needs help with assignments or anything, you know I'll do whatever I can to help."</div> <div> "And I think he wants to be on the swim team, too." She said it as though she didn't want to push her luck.</div> <div> I laughed. "Good!  Well, I can show him what I know. I haven't joined the team this year, but we can go over strokes and form and stuff like that."</div> <div> Mary smiled at me. "I knew I could count on you.  And as far as paying goes, since you'd be tutoring him occasionally-"</div> <div> "Don't worry about it."</div> <div> "No, that's unacceptable. I mean, we might not have as much money as your family, Tris, but we're not scraping by or anything.  Let's say fifteen dollars an hour."</div> <div> I shook my head. "Really, Mary, it's no big deal. Let's say . . . every other day I tutor, you give Liza money to go out to dinner with me. Nowhere fancy-just a quick bite at some restaurant somewhere. Fair enough?"</div> <div> Mary smiled. "I think I can agree to that, but are you sure you don't want-"</div> <div> "I'm serious. My parents give me all the allowance I need, really.  I mean, I won't really have any big expenses until I go away to college, and that's still like two years away."</div> <div> "If you ever want to renegotiate, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"</div> <div> "Fair enough." I grinned.  "Let's say I go outside and see how my charge is doing, eh?"</div> <div> Mary pulled aide the curtains and looked out the window. There was a smile on her face-whether out of love for her son or general pleasure at settling things out, I wasn't sure. I was willing to guess it was both. "He's a bright boy, Tristan-he might be even smarter than Liza, and God knows she's more than we ever hoped for. Social, too-all the girls like him."</div> <div> "I know. I've seen them at school."</div> <div> "Yes." She sighed. "I just wish Liza could be as happy. She always talks about that Steve Johnson, Tris . . . "</div> <div> A wave of guilt washed over me.  "Well . . . I don't know too much about all that."</div> <div> Mary turned and fingered a portrait of her daughter. Her face was pensive now. "She's a pretty girl-you know that, I'm sure-it's just her weight that brings down her self-confidence. I don't know where she gets it from-even her dad only put on any weight after college."</div> <div> "It's not like she's all that heavy anyhow.  If she lost, say, thirty, forty pounds . . . "</div> <div> "Yes, but it's just not that easy. We try to talk to her, Tristan. We really do. But she-she shuts us out the second we even bring it up. It's not healthy."</div> <div> "She does the same thing to me, too, you know. If I even bring it up, she flips. Same with Garrett, or any of our other friends. It's like this hugely unmentionable subject, and every time it even sounds like it's coming up, I can see her tense up, like she's waiting for the bomb to drop."</div> <div> "It's sad. Help her, if you can. She trusts you." Another stab of guilt. "Between us, between her father and me, you and Garrett . . . perhaps we can do something for her."</div> <div> "For this, I doubt that giving her dinner money would be the appropriate form of repayment."</div> <div> "I know I'm asking a lot of you, Tristan. I'm sorry-you don't have to do any of it.  But I trust you, and you're so mature for your age, and I think that we all can help her if we do it together."</div> <div> "As the saying goes, it takes a village."</div> <div> "Quite." She turned. "Alright, she should really be home any minute now.  Go ahead and go out back-I'm sure Jared's waiting for you. He's always excited to see you, you know."</div> <div> "So noted." I headed toward the back door.</div> <div> "Do you want to stay for dinner? We're having beef and broccoli stir fry."</div> <div> Since my parents were out of town, dinner here sounded like a nice option, but I didn't want to commit to anything in case Liza and I had it out and I had to leave. "Thanks, Mary, but I've already laid plans for dinner tonight." </div> <div> "Oh, alright-anytime, though. Anyway, go ahead out back, before it gets any darker-that kid'll swim any time of day, even if it's thunder and lightning outside."</div> <div> I laughed. "Trust me, I know how he feels." I let myself out. Jared was in the middle of a lap. "Hey you!" I called, sitting near the edge of the pool. I pulled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans, then stuck my legs into the water.</div> <div> Jared swam up to the edge of the pool.  His hazel eyes were bright. "I'm glad you decided to stay," he said.</div> <div> "Well, your mom said Liza would be home soon, and besides, I wanted to see your stroke." I raised an eyebrow. "I hear someone's thinking about joining the swim team."</div> <div> Jared nodded. "Liza told me you were on the team for two years. Are you joining this year too?"</div> <div> "Well, returning members already had tryouts, and I sat them out this time around." Jared's face fell.  "But that doesn't mean it's too late, you know. We'll see what happens. Anyway, it's irrelevant-if you want to do it, you should go to the new member tryouts in two weeks."</div> <div> Jared started treading water.  "I don't know if I'll be that good by then." He was quiet for a moment; the only sound was the twin splashes of my feet and his arms. "Can I . . . ask you something, Tris?"</div> <div> "Of course you can."</div> <div> "I think high school might be harder than I expected. I, uh . . . " Jared paused. "Well, I guess I was wondering-I mean, I know you're Liza's best friend and all, and I'm just her brother, but-like, if I needed help with anything, do you think maybe you could . . . give me advice on stuff?"</div> <div> I liked this kid. I really did. I shouldn't call him a kid, either; he's only two years my junior. Somehow, he was very different from his sister. "Your mom and I already talked about that, Jared-"</div> <div> "Oh. I'm sorry. If you already told her you couldn't, I didn't mean to ask again-"</div> <div> "You didn't let me finish. I said I would."</div> <div> Jared's smile was like a sunrise. "You <I>did</I>? Alright! I mean, Liza knows her stuff and whatnot, but sometimes she can't be bothered with me, you know?"</div> <div> "Oh, yes, I know." I fished in my pocket for a piece of paper.  "Look, Jared, I know Liza has my phone number and email address, but let me give it to you, okay? You should have your own copy." I jotted down my contact information on a scrap piece of paper from my wallet.  "But I'm not going to give it to you till you get out of the pool."</div> <div> "Thanks, Tris. I really appreciate it, you know? I mean-okay, well, never mind." Jared was turning a little red, I noticed.</div> <div> "What is it?  You can tell me."</div> <div> "Well, I was kinda hoping we could be friends-you know, you and me, not just 'Oh, Jared, Liza's kid brother.' "</div> <div> I laughed. "We're already friends, Jared."</div> <div> "I mean<I> real</I> friends, too.  Hey, listen, do you mind watching my backstroke really quickly? It's my weakest stroke-I always end up swimming diagonally."  </div> <div> I nodded. "Let's see." Jared began to swim and as the sun set I corrected him on a few of the finer points, reminding him that in real heats there were always overhead flags to mark one's progress. Finally, when the sun was just a finger on the horizon and the sky was a dusky purple, Jared got out of the pool.  I mentally slapped myself, but not before I had given his body the once-over; he was cute-Mary hadn't lied-and at fifteen he was hovering somewhere between the body of a boy and the body of an adolescent.  Before I thought too much about that, I looked toward the kitchen and saw Liza standing in the window. "Hey, Jared," I said as he dried off. "I'm gonna head inside to talk to your sister. If you need me, come get me."  I handed him the contact information. "Copy this in a safe place, alright? And don't ever think twice about calling me." I tousled his wet hair briefly and he grinned at me. "See ya in a bit." I went inside.</div> <div> Liza stood in the kitchen, which otherwise was empty. "You're a shit," she said by way of greeting.</div> <div> "I know."</div> <div> "I know you're gonna deny it-<I>what</I>?"</div> <div> "I said I know. Look, I'm sorry-I wrote the note, not Steve, and I should've told you right away. I fucked up. But, in my defense, I don't think you would've believed me anyway."</div> <div> "Yeah, Garrett explained your logic to me."</div> <div> Now it was my turn for the surprised "<I>What</I>?"</div> <div> "I called her after I left," Garrett said, coming into view from around the corner. I knew this was going to be bad. "I told her everything."</div> <div> I stepped toward him. "You worthless fuck, I was going to do it <I>myself</I>, thank you very much."</div> <div> Garrett's hand twitched like he wanted to hit me. "You're such a fucking handful all the time that it takes both of us working together to deal with the assholeishness that is you."</div> <div> I was taken aback for a brief moment. Liza was silent. Suddenly, a rage came over me, and it was as though everything were made of crystal, designed to shatter at an instant. And I wanted to shatter them. "Fuck you all, conspiring behind my back! What is this bullshit? It was a fucking <I>apology</I> I left in your locker! It's not my fault you thought it was Steve-<I>you're</I> the illogical one for thinking so! What does he have to apologize for-'Sorry, but I don't like you?' Get off it!" I turned to Garrett. "And as for <I>you</I>-what is <I>with</I> you? Are you on your man-rag or some shit? Storming out of my house like that? Gossiping about me behind my back?  Getting all worked up over something that, fundamentally, doesn't involve you? Who do you think you <I>are</I>?" I stormed out of the kitchen and headed for the front door. "Jesus Christ.  I was all ready to make it up to the two of you and you pull some bullshit stunt like <I>this</I>. Well, conspire together all you want. I'm out of here, guys. Thanks for being wonderful and upfront friends." I slammed the door on the way out.  It occurred to me that I hadn't even given them a chance to speak. "I give a <I>shit</I>," I said aloud in response to my own thought.</div> <div> "Are you okay?" Oh, Christ. Jared was standing near my car. God damn it.  That's all I really needed right now-another Luceri to piss me off.</div> <div> "I'm fine, Jared. Now move." I turned off my alarm and opened my door. </div> <div> Jared stood there. "I'm sorry," he said simply.  "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm your friend, and I won't go behind your back."</div> <div> In my present mood, I wanted to snap at him that it <I>did</I> indeed mean nothing, but looking into his innocent face, I somehow didn't have the heart.  "Thanks, Jared." That was all I could manage before I backed my car out of the driveway. This time it was my turn to leave tire marks on the asphalt.  </div> <bR> <div>  </div> <bR> <div> <I><B> <A NAME="chapter_three_dreams_and_choices"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></I><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><I><B>Chapter Three: Dreams and Choices</B></I></FONT></div> <bR> <div> For the rest of the evening, I quietly seethed. It wasn't the kind of anger where I stomped around and broke things; it was the kind of anger that led me to get home and start working out at a frantic pace, jogging around our backyard and swimming laps and jumping rope and practicing forms and strikes.  I was frustrated and filled with pent-up anger that translated itself into frenetic movement. I knew I could call up other friends, like Sarah or Taylor, but I just didn't feel like reaching for the phone.  I would much rather just be alone when I was this mad-there were no guarantees as to what might come out of my mouth, and I had burned enough bridges for one day.</div> <bR> <div> Finally, I sat down in front of my computer.  I had been working on a few expository essays, mostly political in nature, and I decided that now was as good a time as any to pore over some sources and do some basic fact-checking. These weren't for school, so there wasn't a deadline.  They were just part of a website I ran. I loved writing, you see, and I was hoping that one day I could be a journalist, or an essayist-I really loved the essayist's ability to construct and defend an argument logically and soundly through the written word. Look, I know it sounds all dorky, but let it go. I have my little dreams and aspirations-let me hold to them as long as possible, alright?  Anyway, so I worked for a few minutes, going through a pile of magazines at my feet and some of the internet resources that were fairly reliable.  Too much on the net wasn't reliable for me to trust anything I found without first corroborating it with printed text.</div> <bR> <div> Unfortunately, my instant messenger program had auto-loaded. That irritating <I>ding!</I> announced to me that I had a message. I looked up. The message read:</div> <bR> <div> <B>TaylorMade84:</B> You ditched gym today</div> <bR> <div> With a sigh, I set my work down for a few moments. Maybe this would be a chance to vent a little. I responded.</div> <bR> <div> <B>Tristantric:</B> You're so observant.</div> <bR> <div> <B>TaylorMade84:</B> How come? And why are you home on a Friday night?</div> <bR> <div> <B>Tristantric:</B> ::sigh:: Long story. Look, let me call you and explain, alright?</div> <bR> <div> <B>TaylorMade84:</B> K, call me whenever. I'm putting up my away msg</div> <bR> <div> And that ended that. Although now I was duty-bound to call him. Ah well, it's not like that was a bad thing-Taylor was by far the most levelheaded person I knew.  I don't think I'd ever seen him get angry, or even irritated. Granted, the converse to that was that I rarely if ever saw him get really excited about anything, but he seemed to ascribe to the idea that no ups meant no downs, either.  It seemed to work for him-his emotions were always on an even keel, and his sense of logic was keen-but I wasn't sure I agreed with his methodology. I was too much a slave to my emotions. Well, honestly, I'm a writer-writers <I>have</I> to be in tune with their emotions if they want to create anything that can reach readers on an emotional level. A writer can't sacrifice emotion and still expect to impact people, to appeal to their <I>ethos</I>.  So I personally eschewed Taylor's unflappability in favor of emotion. Anyway, he was probably waiting for me to call. I picked up the phone and dialed Taylor's number.</div> <bR> <div> Taylor answered right away. "Alright, so what happened?"</div> <bR> <div> "I got into a huge fight with Garrett and Liza."</div> <bR> <div> "Nothing new there, really."</div> <bR> <div> "No, that's true, but this time they really pissed me off. And there are compounding factors." Like how much I was in love with Garrett-not that I would tell Taylor that. Although, come to think of it, if there was anybody I was going to tell, it would be Taylor. I was certain he would have no reaction.</div> <bR> <div> "Compounding factors?"</div> <bR> <div> "I don't want to get into it."</div> <bR> <div> "So how did they piss you off particularly badly this time?"</div> <bR> <div> I proceeded to tell him the whole story. I then decided to go out on a limb and expose a bit of myself to Taylor.  "And you know Liza and I are really close, but it's being angry with Garrett that really kills me. I mean, we're best friends and I-"</div> <bR> <div> "You love him."</div> <bR> <div> "Well, yeah, I mean, we go way back. So, yes, I do."</div> <bR> <div> Taylor was quiet for a minute. I could almost hear him measuring out his words. "Is that it?" he asked, as though prompting me for more.</div> <bR> <div> I could feel that he was already starting to leap to conclusions on his own.  Was I ready to walk down that path? "What do you mean?" I returned, hedging my bets.</div> <bR> <div> "That you would ask for clarification implies that there is more," Taylor replied. "I mean, is there more to the . . . situation with Garrett?"</div> <bR> <div> I couldn't do this. Not yet, not now, maybe not ever. "No," I replied. "It's just frustrating because now I'm stuck here on a weekend with nothing to do."</div> <bR> <div> "Look, Tris. I'm gonna be honest with you." Taylor paused.  "Actually, it'll be better if we talk in person. Is that cool?"</div> <bR> <div> My stomach had turned to lead. "Yeah, that's fine," I said airily, playing it off that I was unconcerned. "Come over. My parents are out of town."</div> <bR> <div> "Alright."  Taylor hung up. He lived a few blocks away; while I waited, to calm my nerves I threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My room was large and the ceiling was bare, with only the recessed lighting and the fan to relieve the monotony.  In fact, my room was relatively undecorated, minus a few concessions to my various hobbies here and there. I closed my eyes.</div> <bR> <div> <I>There was water everywhere.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>The sun was a distant thing, shimmering and twisting from above the surface. My dark hair floated in front of my face like seaweed.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>I breathed in the water and was filled with life. It was warm here, like a womb, and safe.  If I listened very carefully I could hear a thrumming in the distance, like the beating of some vast and ancient heart. In the stillness, something approached. I squinted, peering into the distance, sight piercing the waters-</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>It was human, and male. As it grew closer, I could make out more details-slender, pale-then the eyes, and I knew it was Garrett. He swam to me and I stopped moving. I did not sink.  I reached out and wrapped him in my arms and brought his face to mine, his lips to mine, and in that moment all distance between us vanished and as our tongues found each other's we turned, suspended. I could feel his heartbeat loud in my ears, insistent and pounding, louder and louder until something was not right and-</I></div> <bR> <div> The door. Downstairs-someone was pounding on the door.  I gasped and snapped upright and dashed down the stairwell, stumbling on my way down. "Hang on!" I yelled as I vaulted down the last few steps. I flung the door open. Taylor stood there in his leather jacket, looking rather chilly.  "How long have you been there?" I asked.</div> <bR> <div> Taylor didn't even look mildly annoyed. "About ten, fifteen minutes."</div> <bR> <div> "Oh, I'm so sorry! I dozed off and I was having a weird dream-come in, sorry, come in, let me get you something warm to drink."</div> <bR> <div> "Do you have any coffee?" Taylor took off his jacket and set it on the coatrack. He raised one black eyebrow. "You might need some just as much as I."</div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, this morning's pot should still be there. Come on, let me get two mugs and get the coffee going. French Vanilla okay?"</div> <bR> <div> "Fine. Alright, we'll talk while you're doing that." That was just like Taylor, to jump straight to the issue at hand without wasting time on small talk. I brewed the coffee while he sat down at the kitchen table. "Okay, I want you to hear me out in my entirety before you interrupt me. Fair enough?" I nodded. "Here goes. I'm gay."  Good thing I was turned away, making the coffee; as it was, I nearly dropped the pot. "I didn't tell you before because it was a simple risks-benefits analysis, and the risks always outweighed the benefits.  The reason I'm mentioning it to you now is because I've been watching for the little signs for months, and I think you're gay too. And that you love Garrett." He fell silent. It was obviously my turn.</div> <bR> <div> My hands were shaking wildly. <I>Shit shit shit shit shit</I>. I did <I>not </I>expect it to be like this. But I wasn't going to lie, either. There was no risk here. "You guessed right." I turned to face him. "On both counts."  </div> <bR> <div> Taylor leaned back and steepled his fingers. Yes, he was the sort of person who actually steepled his fingers. "I thought as much," he said. "When did you first find out?"</div> <bR> <div> I really didn't want to be sitting here discussing my sexuality like this. It was bad enough that I'd come out to Taylor like that-I hadn't so much <I>come</I> out as been forced out, really-and my hands would <I>not </I>stop shaking.  I set the coffeepot down gently, then as my knees gave out I slid to the floor, my back against the kitchen cabinets.</div> <bR> <div> "Tristan?" Taylor stood up, started coming toward me. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-are you okay?"</div> <bR> <div> "I . . . don't know," I replied. I put my head in my hands. I would <I>not </I>cry. I never cried. Never. But acknowledging it-<I>I'm gay</I>-saying it out loud, made it so much more <I>real</I>.  </div> <bR> <div> "I know it does," Taylor said. I didn't realize I had spoken aloud. "It's existential, almost-you can deny it right up until the point it escapes your lips, the moment it ceases to become solely your own reality and suddenly is part of the larger world-"</div> <bR> <div> "The world that is outside of my control."</div> <bR> <div> "Yes, you are a control freak, aren't you?" Taylor sat down beside me. "Look, it's not so bad. I've even dated a bit-"</div> <bR> <div> "You've <I>what</I>?" I was so shocked I raised my head and stared straight at Taylor.</div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, but I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want you all to know yet. I still don't, Tris. The risks-benefits analysis still applies to people outside of you and me-even Julian Lambowski."</div> <bR> <div> "You don't need to tell <I>me </I>that." I put my head back down again. I was quiet for a moment, then asked: "Who did you date?"</div> <bR> <div> Taylor seemed embarrassed. "They . . . don't go to our school."</div> <bR> <div> "What do you mean? You dated guys from other high schools?"</div> <bR> <div> "I . . . I like older guys. Like, late twenties. Past the hormones and all the high school bullshit, you know? College, or out of college, with their lives in order and . . . besides, I look older than seventeen.  I just find the older mind and body . . . well, sexy."</div> <bR> <div> I was, for once, at an utter loss for words. "Tristan?" Taylor said, shaking my shoulder. "Tristan? I'm sorry-I guess I might be doing this all too fast. Are you okay?"  </div> <bR> <div> "Did you have sex with them?" I whispered from between my hands.</div> <bR> <div> Taylor seemed horrified. "No! I wasn't going to go that far. I only went out three times total, with two different guys. And all we did was make out a little-we didn't have sex!" He laughed a little. "I let one of them jerk me off, though."</div> <bR> <div> I shook my head. "Look, Taylor, you're gonna have to slow down. I can't-I can't take all of this all at once like this.  I feel like . . . " If it was possible, I sunk lower onto the floor. "I feel like my head is going to explode."</div> <bR> <div> "You shouldn't be <I>that </I>surprised. After all, birds of a feather flock together.  I'm sure the number of gay kids in the honors classes would shock us."</div> <bR> <div> I had nothing to say. For a moment, I felt as though I were drowning. The dream flashed into my head-the warm stillness-this was nothing like that, but . . . "I really love Garrett, Taylor."</div> <bR> <div> "I know." Taylor put a hand on my shoulders. "I can see it in the way you look at him. I can see it in the way you talk to him. In the closeness between you two."  He stood. "You can see it if you know what you're looking for."</div> <bR> <div> "Do you think he likes me?" I said it in a rush, dreading the answer.</div> <bR> <div> "I don't know. I can't read Garrett so well, you know. Not that you're easy-far from it. You're nearly inscrutable. I just-had a sense of it, that's all."</div> <bR> <div> "Gaydar." I looked up at him. "They call it gaydar."</div> <bR> <div> Taylor laughed. "Well, I guess that makes me one for one."</div> <bR> <div> Questions, a million, whirled through my mind. I needed to be calm. I picked myself up off the floor and poured myself a mug of coffee. A <I>big </I>mug. I poured one for Taylor, too; while I did so, I was silent.  Taylor remained quiet as well, sensing that I was deep in thought. When I handed him his mug, I came and sat down at the table. I stared down at the tabletop-there were amazing patterns in wood, really, if you looked closely enough, all the swirls and straight lines of the grain and . . .</div> <bR> <div> "Tris. You're zoning out."</div> <bR> <div> I jerked. "You're right." <I>Wood grain</I>?  I really was losing it. "I have a bunch of questions for you, but I can't quite figure out which one I want to ask first."</div> <bR> <div> "Start with the most pressing one."</div> <bR> <div> There was one thing I had been pushing into the back of my mind all this time, one thing I didn't want to ask because of what it would mean. It popped out. "Can I kiss you?"</div> <bR> <div> "Sure, that's fine."</div> <bR> <div> I turned totally, completely red. Taylor didn't react at all. "Whoa, let me explain," I said. "I've . . . never kissed a guy. I want to know what it's like." I wasn't attracted to Taylor, really-besides my being in love with Garrett, Taylor looked about nineteen or so, with black hair and sideburns and a five o'clock shadow that started around noon. He was tall and broad and, well, lots of girls found him cute, but he just didn't do it for me. But I did want to see what it was like. Desperately so.  </div> <bR> <div> "It's a lot like kissing a girl," Taylor said. "But more stubbly. Well, best way to have you know is to show you." He stood and came to me and suddenly he was there, up against my lips, and I gasped and tried to say <I>Wait!</I> but nothing came out. I relaxed and opened my mouth a little bit-I'd kissed girls before, so I knew how it was done-and turned my head to one side. Taylor put a hand on the small of my back and I stood, putting one hand on the base of his neck. His tongue slipped inside of my mouth and I moaned against his lips as my tongue met his, searching.  I breathed in deeply through my nose, eyes closed and head thrown back a little bit, and then Taylor pulled away.</div> <bR> <div> I was absolutely breathless for a moment. For his part, Taylor sat back down and sipped his coffee.  "Well?" he asked wryly over his cup. "I know I'm not Garrett, but I know I'm not bad."</div> <bR> <div> "That was . . . definitely more stubbly." Taylor laughed. "Wow. It's so . . . warm.  And my body responds totally differently than when I kiss a girl-wow. That was wild."</div> <bR> <div> "Before you get any ideas, you're not my type."</div> <bR> <div> I grinned. "Oh, am I too young for you?" In a moment, I was serious again.  "Where did you meet these guys?"</div> <bR> <div> "There's a gay group that meets at a coffeehouse up the freeway," Taylor replied. "I met them there and we hung out a few times after that."</div> <bR> <div> "One of them . . . jerked you off?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yeah, but I wasn't particularly impressed," Taylor said dismissively. "I do just as good a job on my own, really." He laughed. "Don't look so shocked, Tris."</div> <bR> <div> I wasn't aware that I'd looked shocked.  "I'm . . . just adjusting to this whole different side of you. I mean, at school you're always the quiet studious type, not really into the party scene or wild stuff . . . and here I find out you moonlight as a . . . a college paramour!"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm not <I>that </I>bad!" Taylor looked pensive. "Do you want to come tonight? They're meeting in an hour at the coffeehouse."</div> <bR> <div> "Oh my god! What if someone sees me? I can't go!"</div> <bR> <div> "There's no one there-not even Julian-from our school. Tristan. Calm down."</div> <bR> <div> "No, what I need to do is call Garrett. I have to apologize to him. I can't have him mad at me, not now." I ran hands through my hair. "How long have you known?"</div> <bR> <div> "That I'm gay?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yeah."</div> <bR> <div> "Since was about ten or eleven, I guess. But it was never really a big deal until the sex drive kicked in around fourteen or fifteen, I guess."</div> <bR> <div> "<I>You</I> have a sex drive?"</div> <bR> <div> Taylor scoffed. "Of course I do! I just sublimate it well. As do you, you know."</div> <bR> <div> I'd never quite thought about it that way. "Oh. I guess you're right." I really hadn't had any sex at all-the most I'd done was confined to my imagination. "I do jerk off quite a bit, though."</div> <bR> <div> "We all do, I'm sure. I do it at least four times a week, probably more."</div> <bR> <div> I blushed. "I'd say I'm . . . a once a day type." Ahem. Moving on.  "Taylor, thanks for coming over. I didn't want to tell you-I think you know that. But I feel better for having told you." I did. There was a bit of a weight off my shoulders, especially since I knew my secret was safe with a good friend.  Now I had someone to compare notes with, too. I told him so. "And you're a good kisser," I added with more than a note of mischief in my voice.</div> <bR> <div> "That almost sounds like you want a second sample," Taylor said with a grin.</div> <bR> <div> "Maybe." And this time I stood up and moved over to his chair.</div> <bR> <div> *   *   *</div> <bR> <div> When Taylor left, I reached for the phone. He was headed to his coffeehouse, to scope out the scene.  After that second kiss, my curiosity satisfied, we'd finished our coffee and he'd left. I still had a lot I wanted to talk to him about, but I decided to save it for later. For now, the first priority was Garrett.  I had made a mistake and I had to correct it. I set the phone back down. What was I going to say? I sat down on the couch and spread out across it, hands behind my head. I could still taste Taylor on my lips. I didn't like him-not like that-but <I>damn</I>. The boy knew how to kiss. I closed my eyes and remembered that moment, and wondered what it would be like to kiss Garrett like that.</div> <bR> <div> <I>Through the trees, I could just make out a faint light.  I jumped as I noticed that there was another hand inside my own. I turned and saw Taylor. "Don't be afraid," he whispered to me.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>"I am afraid," I replied.  </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>Taylor squeezed my hand.  "There are some chances we must take in this life."</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>"I'm not ready yet."</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>"Here he comes." And in the way of dreams, Taylor vanished. I was alone, but the light was closer still.  I could see the outline of the person carrying the light. The person stepped into the clearing. It was Taylor again, but somehow it was not. There was Garrett there too, in the same body, and Jared too, and Liza.  Everybody I held dear stood in front of me now-all of my friends whom I had, at some point, wronged. I had to set things aright.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>"This is for you." The light had turned into a candle, but what dripped from its sides wasn't wax, but tears. "You must take it." </I></div> <bR> <div> <I> I backed away from the amalgam. "Don't touch me."  </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>Suddenly, Taylor's body turned into Jared's.  "I won't betray you, Tristan," he said, before the hair lengthened and the body thickened and Liza stood there. "I love you, Tristan," she said. "You have to love us, too." And, finally, Garrett. "Six years is a long time," he said.  "A long time to laugh, and a long time to cry. But with you, it's not so long. Come back to us." Then they vanished, and the candle fell to the ground.  The flame caught at the dead leaves on the ground and the fire spread unnaturally quickly, jumping in a ring from tree to tree until I was surrounded. It was hot and my skin was burning and there was nothing I could do but give in.  The trees were weeping tears. The tears pooled and hardened like wax, and where the fire touched the frozen tears, it sputtered and went out. Desperately, I turned sideways and-</I></div> <bR> <div> Gasping, I rolled off of the couch and onto the floor. I hit my head on the phone, which I had set down beside me. Well. If there were ever a signal that I needed to do what needed doing, it was that. I looked at my watch.  It was eight-thirty; time enough yet to call and apologize to both Garrett and Liza. I was no good at apologizing. I steeled myself for what needed to be done. Resolutely, I dialed Garrett's number.</div> <div>  </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="05f42010.png" border=0 width="578" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> <A NAME="chapter_four_the_measure_of_loyalty"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>Chapter Four: The Measure of Loyalty</B></FONT></div> <div> Before I could finish dialing the last digit, my cell phone rang. I paused for a moment, then sighed. I pressed the "End" button on the home phone and reached for my cell phone. It was Liza's number. I debated not answering it until I'd talked to Garrett, then decided that it really didn't matter one way or the other. I hit the green "Talk" button.</div> <div> "This is Tristan."</div> <div> The voice was definitely not Liza's. "Tris! It's Jared, not Liza. Are you busy?"</div> <div> I was a tad confused. Certainly Jared didn't need homework help now? "Hey, Jared. Actually, kind of . . . is there something you need, though?"</div> <div> "I just wanted to tell you that Garrett and Liza just left in his car a few minutes ago, and they're heading over to your place to talk to you. I think they've calmed down."</div> <div> "Ah . . . thanks for letting me know, Jared."  I was still rather nonplussed. "Why are you telling me, though?"</div> <div> "Because I think they're treating you badly," Jared said, indignant. "I heard-from their point of view-everything that happened, and I think they're being cruel to you. And I told them so." The last was said with a note of pride. "Liza tried to shoo me out, but Garrett said that they should listen to me."  </div> <div> "You . . . stood up for me?"  </div> <div> "Well . . . you looked really upset when you left."</div> <div> I couldn't speak for a moment. "Jared, tomorrow I'm taking you out to lunch. Your choice. Alright?"</div> <div> "You don't have to repay me-I didn't do this for a reward," Jared replied. I could tell he was pleased nonetheless.</div> <div> "Jared . . . well, I'll explain tomorrow. But, well, let's just say that I'm really glad to have you as a friend right now."</div> <div> "Thanks a lot, Tris. And thanks for the lunch invite, too."</div> <bR> <div> I had precious little time before Garrett and Liza got here, if what Jared was saying was right, but I didn't really want to hang up right away. "Where do you want to go?"</div> <div> "I'm not sure . . . nowhere expensive or anything. Whatever you like is fine." Jared was quiet for a moment. "Tris, you'd better go-they'll be there soon, and I don't want Liza to know I told you they're coming."</div> <div> "Alright, you're right. And Jared-thanks again. For standing up for me. I . . . really appreciate that."</div> <div> Jared laughed. "What's that stupid old saying? 'What are friends for?' "</div> <div> "Yeah, that's it," I said, speaking through a welter of emotions I found hard to identify. "Talk to you tomorrow, Jared. I'll call you at eleven."</div> <div> "I'll be ready! Good night, Tris!"  </div> <div> I hung up. I sat silently for a moment, deep in thought. He stood up for me . . .</div> <div> The unmistakable sound of a car pulling up shook me from my thoughts.  With a smile on my face, I rose and stepped to the mirror on the wall; quickly, I made sure my hair wasn't too mussed up and that I wasn't terribly red-eyed from my brief nap. I liked looking good for Garrett.  I went to the front door and opened it, allowing my smile to vanish. "Come on in," I said curtly to the two figures just stepping from their car. In the darkness, I saw them glance at each other in surprise.  Wordlessly, they closed the car doors and followed me inside. I sat, purposefully, in the most formal room of the house, the library. They stepped into the library. I did not invite them to sit. Instead, I made them stand like penitents before me.</div> <div> "So." I did not bother to make my voice sound warm. God, Garrett was cute when he looked guilty. He shifted his feet and stared at the carpet.  Liza, for her part, was red-cheeked and had her hands clasped behind her back. I let my one word hang in the air. The silence after it was deafening, so much so that I could hear the clock ticking two rooms away.</div> <div> "We . . . we came because-I wanted to say I'm sorry," Garrett said, meeting my eyes for the first time.  </div> <div> "Me too," Liza said quickly, the flush in her cheeks deepening. "We didn't mean to-be so confrontational at my house."</div> <div> Garrett looked guilty again. "Or to conspire."</div> <div> I allowed myself to relax. Jared had been right. Up until this very moment, I hadn't allowed myself to trust what he had said. Not one hundred percent.  Now they had apologized, and furthermore I knew that Jared was as good as his word. "Sit down," I said, this time allowing my voice to sound normal. "Are you thirsty? Do you want me to get you anything?"</div> <div> "No-no," Liza said, looking horrified that I would even offer.</div> <div> "I'm fine," Garrett said. He still had not sat.</div> <div> Now that everything was over with, except for my part, I found that I didn't really want to see them grovel.  "Guys, I'm serious. Sit down, please. I want to apologize as well." Finally, they sat-on the floor. "I meant in chairs!"</div> <div> "Oh." They moved.  </div> <div> "Listen," I started, leaning forward a bit.  "I'm sorry for the mean things I said at your house, Liza, and I'm sorry for leading you on on the phone about Steve. That was definitely not fair of me." I turned to Garrett.  "And Garrett, I'm sorry for accusing you of being on your man-rag and whatnot." I actually felt my face turn a little bit red. But there was more. "And there's something you both need to understand."  I stood up and paced for a moment, unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to say. I walked to the bay windows and looked out at the night. Down the hilltop on which we lived, the lights of the cities were sparkling brightly through the black.  Off to the right, the greater darkness of the sea beckoned. "Both of you. I have a lot of respect for the people that you are. For your intellect, for your character, for your-for you. I don't think for even a moment that you're lesser people than me. And . . . " I took a deep breath; I hated being this vulnerable, "and I love you both. You two are my closest friends."</div> <div> I didn't dare turn to look at Garrett or Liza.  The room was silent for a moment; then, I heard Garrett exhale quietly. "Well," he said. "I guess I'm glad you didn't promise never to do it again."</div> <div> "Why?" I asked warily.</div> <div> I could hear the smile in Garrett's words.  "Because I'm sure that that's one you'd never be able to keep."</div> <div> "You know, he's right," Liza added. They laughed. The bubble of seriousness had been broken; I turned to face the two of them again. "It's alright, Tris.  All of us overreacted. It happens."</div> <div> I nodded. "Listen, I was serious earlier-let's raid the fridge. I, for one, haven't had dinner, and I'm starving."  </div> <div> Garrett looked appalled. "You didn't eat?" he gasped.  "You barely had anything at lunch!"</div> <div> "I had pizza after I left school."</div> <div> "That was-" Garret checked his watch, "eight and a half hours ago! Tristan! You need to eat something!"</div> <div> "Eh.  I've been on a caffeine rush all day," I said. "First the soda we had, and then a lot of coffee." When I thought about what had taken place over coffee, I grinned to myself. "Let's run down and see what's still open by the beach. Just the three of us."</div> <div> Garrett stood up. I'd known him for a long time; I could see in every line of his boyish face that he was relieved to have everything said and done. "Let's do it." He grinned at me.  "And let's do something other than fast food."</div> <div> "Seconded," Liza said. "I couldn't even eat dinner, I was so upset." Irritably, I squashed the snide thought in my head.</div> <div> "I'll drive," I said, grabbing my keys from the table near the door. We hopped into my car and I pulled out of the driveway, tearing off down the hillside and onto the Pacific Coast Highway-which is the most beautiful stretch of road in all of America, I might add. I drove with the top up and the CD player at low volume. We chatted amicably the entire way there, my CD-Coldplay's "A Rush of Blood to the Head"-serving as backdrop for friendly conversation. The heater was on and I had a marvelous feeling of utter comfort; everything was right with the world. My friends were with me in this warm car, I was going to lunch with a new friend, and life was good. This late at night, only a few places were still open; we pulled into a restaurant that stayed open past ten and walked in. It was a seafood joint called A Cavern of Crabs-a name which I found just a little bit disturbing, to tell the truth, but the food was good all the same. We sat down at a table and our waitress, a blond girl about our age with a pinstriped apron and a big plush crab hat on her head, came to take our order.  </div> <div> "Welcome to A Cavern of Crabs, home of the Crabtacular Sandwich," she said, her voice bored. The crab hat's eyes bobbed on her head. "What can I get you to drink?"</div> <div> We ordered a round of drinks and my phone rang.</div> <div> "This is Tristan."</div> <div> "Tristan!" It was Taylor. "What're you up to?"</div> <div> I grinned. "Eatin' out at A Cavern of Crabs."</div> <div> "I didn't think you swung that way." Taylor's voice had a suggestive note in it.</div> <div> I felt my face turn furiously red. "Uh . . . I'm here with Garrett and Liza," I said, putting a little emphasis on the first name. "Are you . . . ah, done?"</div> <div> "The gay meeting is over, if that's what you mean." Taylor said.  I could tell he was enjoying making me uncomfortable.  </div> <div> "Shut up!" Garrett and Liza looked at me oddly. I covered the phone. "It's Taylor," I said apologetically. "He's being stupid." I spoke to Taylor again.  "Come meet us here," I said. I'd get him back when he got here.  </div> <div> "Alright, I'm heading over in a few." I hung up. We ordered our food and let the waitress know that one more person was coming. After a few minutes, Taylor walked in.  He sat down with us, pushing me out of the way. To my immense surprise, I noticed he had a rainbow wristband on. "Taylor!" I whispered under my breath. "Your armband!"</div> <div> Taylor looked down at the same second Garrett noticed the armband.  "What is that?" Garrett asked. Taylor nonchalantly removed it and slipped it into his pocket.  </div> <div> "Oops, forgot I still had that on," he said calmly. I could tell that he was displeased with himself for overlooking the armband.  "I . . . just got back from a Rasta meeting."</div> <div> "Rasta?" Liza looked totally confused. "Who do you know that's a Rastafarian? And what does that have to do with rainbow armbands?"</div> <div> "Rastafarians wear them," Taylor lied.  It was fairly convincing, actually. "And my brother's friend is a Rastafarian."</div> <div> "Their armbands are red, yellow and green," Garrett said slowly. "Not rainbow."</div> <div> Taylor fidgeted under the table.  "They . . . ran out of the normal ones," he said. "These were the ones they gave visitors."  </div> <div> "Oh." Garrett didn't seem convinced.            </div> <div> "I hope you weren't late leaving from my place," I said quickly.  "I know you said that if you're not on top of things, the Rasta people can be a bit anal."</div> <div> Taylor looked at me with wry relief. "I walked in a few minutes late."  Then the food came, Taylor placed his order, and that was the end of that. I wondered if Taylor had met anyone new at the coffeehouse this week; I wondered what would've happened if I'd gone. Later, later. Taylor and I could talk about it at our leisure out of earshot of these two. "So what happened between you three?" Taylor asked.</div> <div> "How much do you know?" Garrett asked.</div> <div> "As much as Tris told me after I got to his place," Taylor replied.  "That he'd stormed out of your house after shouting at you."</div> <div> "Well, Tristan stormed out and Liza and I fumed for awhile," Garrett said. "We kind of . . . well, bitched about the whole thing. Sorry, Tris," he said in a brief aside to me.</div> <div> "Nothing to apologize for."</div> <div> "Thanks. Anyway, so we were going back and forth about how much we wanted to-er-well, scream at him or slap him or whatever."</div> <div> "And then my little brother came downstairs," Liza interrupted. I could see that on some level she was annoyed still by Jared's involvement. I grinned inwardly.</div> <div> "Yeah. He chastised us for being so hard on Tris.  In fact, he told Liza she was acting like a bitch, and then she slapped him."</div> <div> "You did what?" I said, finding myself momentarily very angry.</div> <div> "It wasn't as bad as all that-" Liza said hurriedly.</div> <div> "Yes, it was!" Garrett replied. "You left a red mark on his face! There were tears in his eyes!"</div> <div> "He . . . shouldn't have interfered," said Liza. She was being stubborn, and I was getting angrier.  I didn't realize Jared had been slapped as a result of his interference, and that Liza was still pissed over it. I felt badly, as though what had happened to Jared was partially my fault.  I almost called him, until I realized that it was after ten and sort of late to call the Luceris' home line.</div> <div> "Anyway," Garrett said, noting my anger and hoping to gloss over the issue, "the end of the story is that he told us we were being unnecessarily harsh, and I for one was ready to agree with him. I really shouldn't have gone straight to Liza to spill the beans."</div> <div> "I really did feel badly for hitting him," Liza said. "He's right, after all. I told him that when we were leaving. He told us we needed to take care of things. He told us that we shouldn't let it wait until the morning.  That there was no way you'd be asleep."</div> <div> "Wise kid." I looked at Liza. "Don't slap him."</div> <div> "I told him I was sorry," she said defensively.</div> <div> "I don't think I've met your brother," Taylor said.  "Seems like a bright kid, though. Sensible, at least."</div> <div> "I honestly don't think Jared has a mean bone in his body," Liza replied. "That's why I felt particularly badly about hitting him . . . I really did say I was sorry, Tris.  And he understood."</div> <div> "Alright, I'll let it go." For now. Until tomorrow.  </div> <div> "Honestly, it was kind of weird hearing someone argue in your defense, Tris," Garrett said. "Normally, we'll all just bitch about you."</div> <div> My answer, when it came, was quiet. "Yes, I know."</div> <div> *   *   *</div> <div> I opened the front door of my darkened house. It was cold inside. I wished I'd left a light on to have even a false sense of welcome; even that, however, was denied me. With a sigh, I shut the door behind me. I went around quickly, throwing a few lights on; grabbing my laptop and warming a mug of chai tea, I curled up in the library with my laptop.  The house had wireless internet connection points scattered about; I decided to look up information on this coffeehouse Taylor had mentioned. There wasn't much to find, really, until I stumbled across a few gay personals sites.  My curiosity getting the better of me, I scrolled down the lists, staring at rows of photos. There was something horribly, crushingly impersonal about all of this-an attempt at warm human contact through the cold interface of binary code.  It all seemed so fake, so manufactured, this attempt to reach out from dark loneliness through the vacuum of cyberspace. I shivered as I looked at the photos. </div> <div> And yet . . .</div> <div> I felt the strong compulsion to find an old photo of mine, to post it and scribble down some information about myself, in hopes that someone searching somewhere would hear me and reach down a soft hand to me.  But the person I wanted to reach back and lift me up was Garrett. Garrett, with the beautiful hazel eyes and the blond hair that fell softly across his eyes; Garrett, with the slender body and the hips that curved down into that soft thatch of hair, and the soft contours of his cock, glimpsed but never quite examined as the work of art that it was. I found my hand making its way into my pants.  The laptop slipped from my fingertips as I raised my hips and unzipped . . . down.</div> <div> In the blue glow of the laptop, all other lights extinguished, I gasped and shook.  Above the distant lights of the city below I held myself, stroking slowly, building upward and outward, one hand trailing across my chest, the other moving in time with my heartbeat.</div> <div> The lights seemed to flicker; my heart beat quickly in my chest. In my mind, there was a field, and Garrett was lying naked in it, his body framed by growing things. I was there, beside him, inside him, our bodies the only motion in a windless place. My hand was Garrett's hand, Garrett's body, Garrett's love. And suddenly the Garrett in my mind quickened his pace, moving faster, as though a fire were racing through him. My hand grasped and pulled the sudden slickness of my erection.  It was time, and past time, and with a final jerk and a bitten-off cry I came across my chest, breathing heavily and dreaming of a Garrett that suddenly melted into the ground and away.  </div> <div> And I was alone.  </div> <div> *   *   *</div> <div> Sunlight across my face stirred me into wakefulness. I rose on my elbows; I was still naked on the couch. My clothes were piled unceremoniously below the couch and I had dried cum all across my crotch and chest. My early-morning hard-on was pointing straight up at me. I thanked God that no one was home but me. For some reason, I was hugely embarrassed; unless someone walked right by the library window-not likely-no one would ever see me, yet all the same I put on my boxers before tottering off to the shower. As I padded barefoot down the hallway, my nipples hard in the chill of an October morning, I glanced at the clock. Nine o'clock AM.  Time enough to shower, practice forms and kicks, and get ready to pick up Jared for lunch. I stumbled into the tub, pulled off my boxers and turned on the jets. While I showered, I mused over the events of yesterday.  I'd fought and made up with my two best friends. I'd been outed and had a friend come out to me in turn. And it looked like I'd made a new friend as well. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off.  My morning hard-on had finally subsided, which was good, because hard-ons in low-rise jeans are decidedly uncomfortable. Before I put on my jeans, however, I went into a separate room we kept empty except for floor-to-ceiling mirrors and large mats; this was the room where I practiced Shotokan Karate when I wasn't at the dojo. For an hour, I stretched and then went through forms and kicks.  By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat again and took a second shower. Ordinarily, I practiced, then showered, but this time I had woken up covered in my cum, so I thought it best to shower twice.</div> <div> After stepping out a second time, I hurriedly scrambled into my low-rise jeans and threw on a beige turtleneck. Putting on my assortment of jewelry, I adjusted my hair and made sure I looked presentable.  Then I scooped up my phone and dialed the Luceris' number. Jared answered. "Hey, Jared, it's Tris," I said, putting brown shoes on.</div> <div> "Tris! Are you coming over?" Jared sounded quite excited.</div> <div> "Yeah, I'll be there in ten.  Are you ready?"</div> <div> "I've been ready for an hour!"</div> <div> "Aren't you prompt." I laughed.</div> <div> "Not really, actually. I just set my alarm a little early this morning."</div> <div> "I'm glad you're set. I'll be there soon."  I hung up, grabbed my beige jacket, swirled it about my shoulders and smoothed it across my knees, and then grabbed my keys. I blasted down the empty streets, leaves flying in my wake. The stereo was up loud-this time it was Led Zeppelin's "Achilles Last Stand," perfect driving music-and I rolled the top down.  </div> <div> When I pulled up in front of Jared's house, he dashed out the door. "Bye, Mom!" he called, hopping into my car.  "Good morning, Tris!" he said cheerily, grinning at me.</div> <div> "Morning, Jared. Buckle up!"  </div> <div> "So where're we going?"</div> <div> I looked over at him as I pulled away from the curb. "I think that's your choice, last I heard."</div> <div> "What about Taco Bell?"</div> <div> "How about a nice sit-down restaurant on the beach?"</div> <div> "No-that'll be too expensive." He shook his head. "I don't want you spending that much on me."</div> <div> "Look, it's fine.  Do you like Italian food?"</div> <div> "Yeah, as long as it doesn't have mushrooms."</div> <div> I laughed. "Same here. Let's go to Toscana." We drove down PCH a few more miles and pulled off in a little village area where small shops and boutiques lined the approach to the sea. I sent Jared to run in while I parked the car; when we met up again, he let me know that the wait was fifteen to twenty minutes.    </div> <div> "But they said we can walk down to the water; they have a PA system they'll use. We'll be able to hear it as long as we're on the beach right in front of the restaurant."</div> <div> I nodded. "Let's try not to track a bunch of sand in, though."  We walked a ways down to the water and stood at the edge of the tide, still in the dry sand. I glanced around; the day was overcast and blustery, and the iron gray of the clouds stretched down to the horizon, meeting and merging with the choppy sea.  At that distance, it looked as though there was no separation between sea and sky. Around us were the rocky cliffs that dominated this area of the coast. It was a beautiful day, if windy, and my jacket was blowing open behind me. Jared looked cold. "Do you want a jacket?" I asked. I had an extra in my car, and even though he was about five inches shorter than me, it should still fit him fine.</div> <div> "No, I'm fine," he replied. "At least I wore a sweater."  He looked up and down the coast for a minute. "It's a pretty day out today. I like it when it's overcast like this." The wind was whipping his blond hair around his face, and he had his hands crossed over his chest for warmth, but he smiled.  "Hey, Tris . . . ?"</div> <div> "Yes?"</div> <div> "Why'd you decide to take me out to lunch today?"</div> <div> I breathed in, gathering my thoughts for a moment. This sort of thing was never easy for me. "Well, it's kind of a long story, Jared."</div> <div> "Oh, you don't have to go into detail if you don't want to."</div> <div> "Well, I figure I owe it to you . . . no, I want you to understand."</div> <div> "This isn't easy for you, is it?" Jared looked at me. His eyes were very green.  "Talking about yourself, I mean. Your feelings."</div> <div> I was surprised he'd seen that so quickly. "You're right. I find it really hard to talk about that sort of thing."</div> <div> "Why?" He asked the question quietly, looking up at me from under his tousled mop of blond hair. I think somehow he knew he was asking me a question I would find difficult to answer, and didn't want to push his luck too far.</div> <div> How much did I want to tell this kid? I barely knew him-well, I'd known him for years as Liza's little brother, but as a person unto himself, he was a mystery-and yet I knew I could trust him.  Trust him as much as I trusted Liza or Garrett. In some ways, perhaps more so. Yet even Liza or Garrett didn't really know why I was reluctant to be self-revealing.  "That is an even longer story, and I ought to get through the first before going into that."</div> <div> "Alright." Jared might've been a little bit disappointed, but he didn't let on if that were the case.  "But you were going to tell me why we're here."</div> <div> "Yes, I was." Just then, we heard our names over the PA system.  We walked back up the beach, entered the restaurant and were seated at an outdoor table that overlooked the place where we had just stood.  For a moment, it was as though I could see echoes of ourselves, one taller, one shorter, one dark-haired, one blond, standing there at the edge of the waters. After we'd ordered our drinks-water for me and lemonade for him-I started my explanation again. "I was surprised that you stood up for me, Jared."</div> <div> "Is that all?"</div> <div> "Well, yes and no." I took a sip of water. "Well . . . my parents always raised me to be very self-sufficient.  Like right now they're off in San Francisco, and when they left they said 'Bye' and that was it. No instructions. No extra cash. You see, I have my own bank account and credit cards and they know I can get by just fine on my own.  Same with school. They never bother me about schoolwork-never have-and I always do what they want. They're both businesspeople-they're too busy running their companies to pay too much attention to their only son, who's already in the late years of adolescence. Know what I mean? So . . . the same attitude carries over to my friends."</div> <div> "You mean that self-sufficiency?"</div> <div> "Exactly. I don't go to my friends when I have a problem. I don't go to anyone, really. I internalize it, keep it inside. And I don't show any weaknesses.  The problem with this is that everyone just thinks that I have no weaknesses."  </div> <div> Jared shook his head. "Everyone has weaknesses. Everyone feels emotions."</div> <div> "Well, apparently I don't-at least, that's what everyone thinks. Like last night at dinner, we were talking and Garrett was commenting that he was surprised to hear you stick up for me, because no one ever sticks up for me. And it's the truth-no one ever does, and no one ever has.  I just don't seem like the type that needs people sticking up for me, so when I get into fights it always feels like myself against the rest of the world." I made sure I had Jared's eye contact. "You . . . stood up for me, Jared.  Do you understand what that means? It means that you did something that no one else ever thought of doing. You did something no one else ever cared to do."</div> <div> "Not even Garrett or my sister?"</div> <div> "No.  They're my best friends; don't get me wrong. But they don't see me like that. To them, I'm an emotionless automaton. Human, but barely so. And an asshole, too. They're great friends-it takes a big person to put up with me, Jared.  But they just don't see me as giving in to emotion. And I do."</div> <div> "I'm sorry, Tris."  </div> <div> "Don't be sorry. It's not anyone's fault but mine, really, and besides, you did what no one else has done. You stuck up for me. You stood at my side, even if I wasn't there."</div> <div> Jared pushed his lemon around with his straw, then met my eyes again. "Remember how I said I wanted to be your friend?"</div> <div> "Yeah."</div> <div> "This is what I meant. Friends do that.  They stand by each other."</div> <div> I resisted the impulse to reach across the table and seize Jared in a hug. "Thanks." No, that wasn't enough. "I . . . don't have words enough to say what that means to me."</div> <div> Jared nodded.  "I think I understand."</div> <div> I grinned at him as our food came. "Somehow, I think you just might."</div> <bR> <div> <I><B> <A NAME="chapter_five_some_sticky_situations"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></I><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0099FF" FACE="Arial" ><I><B>Chapter Five: Some Sticky Situations</B></I></FONT></div> <div> Sunday evening ended with a flaring orange sunset over the ocean. Garrett and I gathered up our things, slipped jeans over our now-dry swimming trunks and jogged to my car.  I'd parked some ways up off the beach, above the cliffs and near one of the shop-lined streets. Slipping on my jeans, I admit, was a bit of a relief; I'd spent the better part of the day attempting to conceal a raging erection.  Watching Garrett swimming and running and horsing around on the beach was nearly unbearable. When we got into my car, I turned down the radio and drove to my house. While en route, I brought up something that I had forgotten to do previously.  Turning slightly sideways to Garrett while continuing to watch the road, I asked, "Remember the day I was at Liza's-the day of the shouting match?"</div> <div> Garrett looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yeah . . . what about it?"  </div> <div> "I didn't tell you that I talked to her mom for a good long while before you guys got there."</div> <div> "Oh yeah? What about?" Garrett was distinctly relieved that I wasn't going to broach the topic of the fight.</div> <div> "Among many things, she was talking to me about Liza's inability to discuss her weight problem."</div> <div> "I really don't understand how you can talk about it so casually."</div> <div> "Well, it's not <I>my </I>weight problem.  Anyway, her mom was saying that we ought to do something to help her."</div> <div> "You know every time we bring it up she flips out! It bothers her worse that she's the only heavyset one in her family. I mean, look at Jared-the kid's a twig-"</div> <div> "Right, right, and that's what her mom was saying . . . she was saying that if the four of us-her, Liza's dad, you and me-all try to help her, gently, maybe she will be able to talk about it without, you know, growing horns and a tail."</div> <div> "So we're supposed to risk her breathing fire down our pants for what? So she can talk to us about her weight problems?  What does that solve?"</div> <div> "Acceptance is the first step to recovery," I said. "After she stops picking up the pitchfork every time we bring it up, maybe we can, with her parents working the other front, start finding ways for her to control it. To lose weight. You know she wants to; she just has to accept the fact that she'll need help."</div> <div> "How're we supposed to talk to her about this without her spitting acid at us?"</div> <div> I gave Garrett a sheepish grin.  "That's what I was hoping you'd be able to help me with." I turned onto my street and pulled into my driveway. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to give it a whole lot of thought. I've had . . . other things on my mind."</div> <div> "Oh, she was a bit miffed that you took Jared out to lunch, you know."</div> <div> I shrugged. "Like she needs to eat more." </div> <div> Garrett shook his head.  "No, see, that's exactly the sort of thing we can't say if we're going to be positive about helping her."</div> <div> "Right, of course . . . when we're talking <I>to </I>her."</div> <div> Garrett rolled his eyes. "This is what I meant when I said it was a good thing you didn't promise not to be an asshole anymore."</div> <div> "Being an ass is just one more free service I offer."</div> <div> "Seriously. Should we sit her down and talk about this? The three of us?"</div> <div> "Yeah, and then I'll let her parents know what transpires. But when do we sit her down?"</div> <div> "Well, this evening might be good, after we get cleaned up and whatnot. What time is it-six-thirty?  Let's say we reconvene here around eight-thirty or so. When are your parents getting back?"</div> <div> "When I talked to them last night, they said they'd be flying in Tuesday morning.  So I still have the place to myself, except for when the housekeepers come on Monday. Tonight's fine; I'll call her as soon as you leave."</div> <div> Garrett nodded and got up to go. "Alright, I'll be back by eight-fifteen or so.  We'll just lay it out flat, right? Like, both address our concerns and go from there?"</div> <div> "Yeah. Just make sure I'm not too much of an ass," I said snidely.</div> <div> Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Look, when you want to be, you can be just fine. Alright, I'm leaving." When he'd gone, I decided that the best place to have our conversation would be outside, at the poolside bar. I jotted down a quick note-"Meet me outside"-attached it to the front door, and dashed up to the shower. After I was done, I toweled off and, feeling brave, decided against dressing until after I'd eaten. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, feeling a distinct draft along my legs.  The combination of sensation along my upper thighs and the memories of the day at the beach soon gave me a hard-on that pointed straight up at my face. With a suppressed laugh, I opened the refrigerator door.  Grabbing a jar of jelly, I turned and walked past the sliding glass door that looked out into the backyard. It was nearly pitch black outside. Behind me, toward the front of the house, I heard the noises of cars passing our cul-de-sac.  I'd eat on the table, I figured, and then get dressed; if my hard-on didn't subside by then-and it showed no signs of doing so-I'd take care of it while dressing. I made my sandwich and turned to go back to the fridge.  </div> <div> Something moved past the sliding glass door.</div> <div> I choked back a yell. The jar of grape jelly in my hands fell and shattered against the floor tiles. With a second yell, I jumped backward to avoid the shards; my hand slipped off the countertop and I fell, hard, on my ass. I felt a flush rise in my cheeks as I rose on unsteady legs, glancing outside.  The sensor-activated lights had illuminated the near section of the backyard. Taylor stood at the sliding glass door, doubled over and in hysterics. Angrily, I threw open the door. "What the <I>fuck </I>are you doing here?!" I shouted in his face.</div> <div> When Taylor had regained control of his senses, helped along somewhat by my angry shove, he looked me up and down suggestively. "What's <I>up</I>, Tristan?" he asked.</div> <div> With a start, I realized I was still naked. "Oh my <I>God</I>!" I gasped, grabbing the first thing that came to hand-my sandwich-and using it to cover my erection. "Oh my God, Taylor, what the fuck?"</div> <div> "Sorry, dude, sorry!"  Taylor stepped inside and closed the glass door, as my hands were otherwise occupied. "I saw the sign and came around back, thinking you'd be swimming. I stopped by because Garrett called me and told me about the <I>intervention </I>you guys are planning for Liza.  Ah . . . were you planning on talking to her like <I>that</I>? Cause you'll definitely get her attention, although . . . "</div> <div> I flushed even redder than before, if possible.  The jelly was squelching between my legs. This was decidedly not cool. I don't think I'd ever been so embarrassed in my <I>life</I>. "Taylor, you have to <I>promise </I>you're not going to tell anyone about this." He just grinned. "<I>Please</I>?"</div> <div> "Go get dressed." I nodded and turned. I'd get my answer after I got back. Right now, the thing I needed most was a pair of pants. Or boxers, at least. Anything was better than a jelly sandwich.  To my horror, as I turned, Taylor slapped my bare ass.</div> <div> "<I>Taylor</I>!" Mortified, I threw the sandwich aside and ran down the hall. Taylor's laughter followed me all the way up to my room.</div> <div> When I'd wiped the jelly from my legs and put on a pair of pants, I came back down the stairs, pulling a shirt over my head as I went. Taylor was sitting at the table <I>with the sandwich on a plate in front of him</I>. He grinned at me.  "Bon appetit," he said, picking it up.  </div> <div> Horrified, I grabbed the sandwich and threw it away. "You were gonna <I>eat </I>it?!" I asked, shocked.</div> <div> Taylor was laughing yet again. "Of <I>course </I>not," he replied. "I just wanted to see your reaction. Here's the plate back."</div> <div> I collapsed into a chair. "You'd better not tell anyone about this," I warned him.</div> <div> "Don't worry. I'll try to keep my mouth shut."</div> <div> I sighed.  "Well, at least it was <I>you </I>and not Liza or Garrett. I think I would've died on the spot."</div> <div> "And wouldn't that have been an ignominious way to go."</div> <div> "Quite.  Alright, if you're going to stick around for the intervention, as you so delicately called it, I suggest we move outside." I cleaned up the broken jar and we went outside.  I was barefoot, but I usually didn't bother to put shoes on if I was simply trotting between the house and the pool anyhow. Taylor followed me out; still hungry, I snagged a bag of chips as I closed the door. As we walked out to the bar, it occurred to me that that was the most I'd ever seen Taylor laugh. I told him so. "I'm glad I could bring you that kind of joy," I added sardonically.</div> <div> "Never a dull moment with you around," Taylor agreed. "It must be <I>hard </I>to keep up that level of entertainment." He sat at a barstool. "What had you so excited, if I may ask?"</div> <div> I blushed. "Nothing."</div> <div> "Oh? You often get boners while making jelly sandwiches? Must be tough," he said.</div> <div> "Well, it was more than just that, of course."</div> <div> "I should certainly hope so. Food doesn't really do it for me, personally. Maybe a little light spanking . . . "</div> <div> "You're a boyful of surprises, you know that?"</div> <div> "I'm kidding. So . . . what was it?"</div> <div> I sighed. "If you <I>must </I>know, I was thinking about Garrett."</div> <div> The gate opened, then closed, and I heard Garrett's voice. "What about me?"</div> <div> Oh my God.  Could this day get any worse? "Thinking about what you'd said earlier."</div> <div> Garrett was unconvinced. "I hadn't really said anything earlier."</div> <div> I had a sudden urge to get up and run. Or go into the pool and not come back up.  Either would suffice. A lie. Quick. "About what you'd said about Liza."</div> <div> "Ahh, I see. Well, she should be here any minute now." Garrett turned to Taylor. "I'm glad you're here," he said.</div> <div> "Even if he did show up a bit unannounced," I said tartly, glaring at Garrett. He pretended not to notice.</div> <div> "I'm sorry," Taylor said sweetly. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything when I came to the door."</div> <div> "Of course not," I replied.  My mood was souring rapidly. This was already not going well. A few minutes later, after idle chit-chat-very little of it, of course, from Taylor-Liza opened the gate and came through. "Hey, Liza," I called, waving her over.  I poured her a glass of water. "We have soda and juice up in the house."</div> <div> "Water's fine for now. So what's going on? I see the gang's all here, minus Sarah."</div> <div> "I think she's still off at the shooting range," Taylor said.  Garrett and I shrugged. Taylor was closer to Sarah than we were; he'd know best of all of us.</div> <div> "Anyway, Garrett and Taylor are here for a reason, Liza." Once I'd began, I realized I didn't know how to continue. "Ah . . . "</div> <div> "We're concerned about you," Garrett said. I could've kissed him for saving me. Well, I would've kissed him under any circumstances, really, so that wasn't saying much at all.</div> <div> "What? About <I>me</I>?"</div> <div> "Well, yeah," Garrett continued. "Like, look, it doesn't matter to any of us-we don't think anything of that sort of thing-"</div> <div> "We like you because of who you are," I added through Garrett's stammering.  </div> <div> Liza was wary. She pushed her water back and stood. "Is this about my weight? Is this some kind of fucking counseling session? Cause if it is, I'm leaving. I'm not gonna sit and listen to this bullshit."</div> <div> Taylor, who thus far had been silent, spoke up. "We're only saying anything because we care about you."  </div> <div> "Fuck you, Jenny Craig!" Liza was in high dudgeon now. "What, you care about me and you don't want me getting all fat?"</div> <div> I resisted the urge to tell her she'd chosen the wrong tense. "It's not that, Liza," I said, trying to stay calm.  "I honestly think you'd feel better about yourself if you at least made an effort to work on something that I think really does bother you."</div> <div> "<I>Bother me</I>? Where did we get this idea that what I may or may not weigh <I>bothers </I>me?"  Liza was nearly screaming now. "Why are we discussing this? What relevance is it to you? Look at all of you; you're all twigs! My weight does not <I>bother </I>me!"</div> <div> Before I could point out the obvious irony to Liza, my phone rang.  I flipped it open. "This is Tristan."</div> <div> "Tristan, honey, how are you?" Oh, shit. Perfect time for my mom to call.</div> <div> "I'm . . . doing well. How's the trip?"</div> <div> "It's been busy; we haven't had too much time to take Izz and Sandy around, but we have all day tomorrow free! We're going to take them shopping at the Saks in Union Square and then I thought we'd hop on over to the big Macy's too."  </div> <div> Meanwhile, behind me, I could hear Liza shrieking. "So what next? You're gonna tell me to get lipo? My stomach stapled? What <I>is </I>this?"</div> <div> "Ah . . . Tris?" my mom asked. "Is there something going on over there?"</div> <div> "Er, no, mom . . . just watching TV," I muttered, moving away from the table so Liza's tirade wouldn't be so audible. I winced as I heard her glass of water shatter.</div> <div> "Remember, Tristan," my mother warned, her voice much more stern, "we don't want anyone over. It creates huge legal liability issues; if any minor were to get injured on property we own, we'd be liable both for the damage and for negligence.  We've made this very clear to you in the past."</div> <div> "Right, Mom." Now it sounded like Liza was growling and Garrett was holding her back, from the way she was screaming. "I won't throw any wild parties; I promise."</div> <div> "You'd <I>better </I>not," she said. "I'm <I>not </I>wasting the lawyers' retainer fees on bailing you out of jail." I think she was only half-kidding. Her voice lightened. "Now, is there anything you want us to get you while we're in the financial district?"</div> <div> Liza had escaped Garrett's grip; I heard the sounds of two stinging slaps, as well as continued high-pitched screams and yelps of pain from Taylor. "Uh . . . I can't really think of anything. Can I call you back if I do?"</div> <div> "Well, of course. We'll be there all day tomorrow. Have you been keeping the house clean?"</div> <div> Oh, God. I just wanted this conversation to end. It's not like I hated talking to my parents-far from it-but Liza sounded as though she were about to commit first-degree murder. "Yeah, it's spotless. I've cleaned up everything so far and the housekeepers will be in tomorrow." I ducked as Liza threw a water bottle wildly.  It exploded against the barstools. "Look, Mom, I've gotta run. I'm leaving-"</div> <div> "-calling me fat, you <I>bastards</I>!"              </div> <div> "-to go visit Liza," I finished lamely.</div> <div> "I want you to behave yourself," my mother warned. "We trust you to stay by yourself because you're responsible. Don't make us regret our decision. You be safe." She paused for a minute and talked to someone in the background.  Meanwhile, Liza was still shouting. At least it sounded like she'd stopped trying to slap Taylor senseless. I cupped the phone to my face to muffle the sound nonetheless. "Your dad and the twins want to say hi," my mom said.</div> <div> Desperate, I resorted to deception. "Hey, Mom, you're cutting out. Let me call you back when I have better reception."  Guilt surged through me, but Liza was raving, and I was afraid that any second now she'd come snatch the phone out of my hands and scream her woe directly into it.</div> <div> "Strange, I can hear you just fine, honey," my mom replied.</div> <div> "Look, I'll call you back in a bit," I said. </div> <div> "Alright, but we're going to turn in soon. It's been a long day."</div> <div> "If you don't hear from me tonight, I'll call you first thing in the morning."</div> <div> "Be sure to.  Before you go to school. We'll see you when we get home on Tuesday-now, don't forget to call us back! And be careful, and don't be late tomorrow!"</div> <div> "Yes, Mom!"</div> <div> "Bye, dear."</div> <div> "Bye, Mom." I hung up. "Would you <I>fucking shut up</I>?!" I shouted as I turned. "You're acting totally ridiculous."  </div> <div> Oh. They were all sitting down calmly. "What-you're all done? What was with all the screaming and carrying on?"</div> <div> Liza looked as though she were seething; tears trembled in her eyes, but didn't fall. Garrett spoke up. "We finally got her to calm down after she tried to slap Taylor."</div> <div> "I'm sorry, Taylor," Liza whispered.  "I . . . I don't like to talk about this. I don't. I-"</div> <div> "It's okay," Taylor said. "We bring it up because we're concerned-not about your weight, but about your attitude toward it."</div> <div> "We want you to be happy, Liza," I said. "Now, do us a favor . . . tell us what would make you happy."</div> <div> Liza was very quiet for a long while. I waited her out, and luckily Taylor and Garrett did the same.  "I . . . don't want to feel ugly anymore," she said.</div> <div> "You're not ugly," I said quickly. "That's the whole point. This is about how <I>you </I>perceive yourself."  </div> <div> "What should I do?"</div> <div> I looked at Garrett and Taylor. She was receptive; now was the time to tell her what should have been said long ago.  The sun was low and swollen before everything that needed to be said was said; when Liza left, full dark had fallen, but we all hoped against hope that there was a different and brighter light on her horizon.  After Taylor and Garrett had left, I stumbled back inside, tired from a long day of swimming. I took off my clothes and, though it was only ten in the evening, curled up under my covers and fell asleep.</div> <div> *   *   *</div> <div> The next morning, I parked my car in my usual spot and walked onto campus. The first person I saw was Taylor. "Taylor!" I called. "I need to talk to you."</div> <div> "What's up, Tris?"</div> <div> "Come inside my car."</div> <div> "Ooh, that sounds interesting."</div> <div> "Shut up." I lowered my voice. "I wanted to talk to you . . . in private." Taylor opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. "Look, the whole gay thing . . . "</div> <div> "What about it?"</div> <div> "Well, I was kind of thinking-I want, like, a second opinion."</div> <div> "You mean you want to